Angels by the sunrise
by cuddlefishprince
Summary: (fanfic request) Jim died and Sebastian couldn't accept it. He visits Moriartys place everyday, but can he stand this? Jim is watching him all the time, as a prisoner in his only friends sorrow... (I never really intended writing a Sherlock fanfic, but the request really got me and so I wrote some ghostfic)


_Even the devil was an angel._  
_Until he got called a 'devil', he was a saint._

"Before he fell", the words echoed through the room, "You didn't say it was forever."

There he stood, talking to himself, talking to ghosts.  
But no one answered. It was too late. He was gone. Dead.  
The end to everything,** isn't it**?

"_Before he fell..._"

Another small flat somewhere in London, Canary Wharf. A man in a cloak, watching the people outside the empty place.

Perfectly placed books, not a hint of the mess in the other flat, two men shared. It was a clean place. Not even now, after months, the whole apartment was covered in dust.

Sebastian had lost count of the days he spent there, staring into nowhere, wasting thoughts on the man who lived there. Maybe he still waited for something, someone. He could have been alive, he could have...

"Jim...", he murmured, pushing himself away from the window, "If you could only hear me now.."

"Sebastian..?"

There he stood, right behind him. Trying to face him, trying to get his attention. But he couldn't. He never could. He was trapped in this place, no life, no death. No sleep, no days, no night. Just waiting. Waiting for the day he could leave. He knew it would happen, but he didn't know if and when. All he knew was that he died on the rooftop, back then. That he shot himself. Since then, he was trapped inside his own flat. He felt like a prisoner. But at least, Sebastian came to visit him. Everyday.

The curtains clattered, closed. Darkened the room.  
Jim couldn't remember since when he tried to get noticed by the other man. Neither could he remember when he gave up. It could have been hours or months. He could have tried and given up again, but he didn't know. Death was a tricky game and it messed up his mind. Even more.

"Sebastian!", he shouted, waving his arms.

Maybe today. Maybe this time.

Nothing. He flailed his arms, hit the bookshelves, but nothing happened.

"Sebastian!"

Again and again. He didn't know if it were hours or minutes, he just kept trying.

Trying isn't insane. But being proven wrong and trying again sure is.  
But who knew if it was the same in death. At least, he never knew for sure. If it would work out or not.

Then it happened: A book, smashing to the ground. A soft noise, lasting for a moment.

None of them touched it.  
None of them picked it up.

"Jim?", Sebastian turned around to where the book felt.

He chuckled.

"Aren't normal people adorable?", he said, "Believing."

"Believing? In what?", Jim muttured, unless he knew, it was useless.

"Maybe we need this... believing.", he paused for a while, sitting down on the couch next to the window. Hof often did they sit there, watching ordinary people, guessing about their lives. after a while he continued, "And who knows, if you can hear me now? I wish I could ask you more about yourself. I would have liked - no loved to understand what was inside your head. What you were pondering about all day and night. And why you acted like it was nothing, acted so tough."

"It's mania...", Jim whispered, rather silent, now afraid that Sebatianyould her him, "And I would have never told you, anyway."

"Jim, I wish you were here with me now. Here on the couch, with a cup of tea, and we could enjoy that moment together."

"Maybe it's true what people say... You don't know what you have till you lose it."

Sebastian took a look aside, to where the invisible Jim stood. His look went right through, but to Moriarty it was like he faced him.

"Was it worth it?"

The words escaped his mouth like he was talking to himself inside his head. And for Sebastian, he was alone.

And they hit. It hit Jim deep inside, even though he was long-gone. Even though he knew his body was rotting somewhere, buried, by now. He never felt so bad for what he did, ever before.

"I know your mind was... special, but... Didn't you think about it? Was there no other way out?"

Heavy drops, tears, wetting Jims face. He did this for the game, sure to win, sure to surprise Sherlock. But he never thought about Sebastian. About the man he left behind. The only one he left behind.  
Alone in this big city.

Was this his lesson to learn?  
Was this why he had to stay in a world like this?  
To see his loved one suffer from ordinary feelings?

Jim wondered if this was it. If he could leave his cage now.  
But he couldn't.

He watched Sebastian, as he cleaned the place once more, after a long while. Then he left without saying anything else.  
The apartment remained silent for the next days. It was the first time for ages, that Sebastian didn't come over.  
And it gave him time to think about his words.

"Was it worth it?"

Maybe it wasn't. Maybe there would have been another way. Maybe...

"Where is my heaven?!", he shouted, "If this is the end, where is this 'hell' that should burn for me?!"

Silence.  
Nothing happened for a while, it could have been hours. It could have been days.  
Then Sebastian came back.

But something was different this time.

"Sebastian!", Jim shouted, running over, almost hugged the other man.  
But he realized that it was useless, soon enough.

"Hello Jim.", Sebastian mumbled, "I am sorry for not coming back for a while."

His voice was trembling from off-use, his eyes were soaked, red. Dark circles underneathhis eyes and a five-o-clock shadow decorated his pale face. He threw off his scarf to the floor, kicked off his shoes. The cloak flew through the air, landed somewhere in the mess he made.

"Sebastian, what are you...?!"

He sank down to the couch finally, after pulling the curtains aside. It was late night and there was no one out on the streets.

"I needed to get some things clear, but..."

He sniffed into a white hankerchief, sobbing.

"But I couldn't be without you. And I did something terrible..."

"Sebastian?", Jim whispered, making his way over to the place, "what happened?"

"I know I may regret it, but.. I couldn't be without you either."

Three empty boxes of pills, thrown on the floor at once. Pain killers, deadly dose.

"Sebastian, please... No!"

Jim wanted to panick, but even now, that he knew it was hopeless, that he wouldn't see him, he kept calm.

"I want to meet you again and I will..."

Moriarty walked around the couch once, then he took a seat.

"I know you are here, I can feel it.", he mumbled, with his trembling voice, "I am not scared at all, I know there's a place in heaven for us."

"H-heaven?!", Jim stuttered, "More like hell, don't you think? We are not the ones who lived happily ever after."

"Hey Jim, did you know, that the devil was an angel before he fell?", Sebastian giggled, "And so did we. We only fell. But I think we can still get up again."

Heavy teardrops again. Dripping down his cheeks.

_"Falling is like flying_, until you hit the ground.", Jim whispered to himself, not aware that his friend was drifting off to a world of death and slumber.

Then it got silent.  
They didn't struggle to save each another, both of them knew it was too late.  
Too late for both of them.

"I hope we can watch the sunrise together again.", Sebastian admitted, "That was one of the best parts of staying up all night with you. Your stories and the sunrise."

_"We'll be angels, one day. I am sure."_

_"Jim? Was this you? Am I.. dead already?"_

_"You can hear me?"_

_"Jim!"_

_"Sebastian..?"_

_"Is this heaven, already?"_

_"It is, now."_


End file.
